


Autumn Felicitations

by Bluebellstar



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Fluff, Implied Relationships, M/M, Nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26337721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebellstar/pseuds/Bluebellstar
Summary: Richelieu is fairly ambivalent towards the autumn season. The only thing he cannot stand is the day he cannot escape - September 9.Part of the Fete Des Mousquetaires challenge on FFN.
Relationships: Armand Jean du Plessis de Richelieu/de Tréville (Trois Mousquetaires)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Autumn Felicitations

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the Fete Des Mousquetaires challenge over on FFN.
> 
> Also, shameless birthday fluff with little plot and no expected historical accuracy for the Cardinal. And implied Trevilieu as well because I am just horrible like that.

September in Paris was a beautiful time of the year. The sweltering heat and accompanying stench of summer was tapering off, and cool breezes began to waft through the open spaces. The leaves on the trees were shifting from uniform green to a parade of yellow and gold, and the countryside was ripe with the promise of the upcoming harvest. Most of France was eagerly anticipating this promising time of the year; King Louis had even commissioned a new wardrobe in festive autumnal colours - the cost had been exorbitant, but the King refused to be swayed. The fact that the sittings distracted the King from interfering in the running of the state was the only advantage that could be gained from such a reckless waste of resources.

From a practical point of view, September was a month no different to any other. There were feasts and masses to attend, councils to hold, messes (usually caused by the Musketeers ruining his perfectly good if morally ambiguous plans) to clean up, and petulant Kings to endlessly placate. It made little difference to the affairs of state whether the ground was blanketed with flowers, snow, or fallen leaves. The latter especially was a nuisance, crunching ominously underfoot, refusing to be ordered, and getting everywhere. Why only yesterday, those infernal Musketeers (Athos, Porthos, d'Artagnan, and Aramis) had arrived at the Louvre covered in the autumnal detritus. What exactly they had been doing remained a mystery to most - even their long-suffering Captain had dismissed it as little other than the Musketeers being Musketeers. (Jussac had reported that Boisrenard had overhead that the infernal four had been forced to escape a sticky situation by jumping into a cart full of the deceased leaves - but even they couldn't possibly be that cretinous).

🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂

It wasn't to say that Richelieu was necessarily against autumn as a season. He enjoyed the influx of wealth that the harvest brought, as well as the fullness of the stores for the coming winter. He could even remember a time when he had watched the village children playing in the fallen leaves when he had been a small and sickly child. However, there was one small thing that Richelieu absolutely despised about September. One small bump in an otherwise perfectly acceptable month full of work, mass, and an endless cycle of the same tedious meetings as every other day of the year.

The ninth day of the month.

It was good for absolutely nothing other than reminding him of everything that he still had to achieve - and the dwindling time available for him to do it in. The one day of the year that announced to the world (or those few that cared to remember) that despite the best efforts of most of the European powers, half of France, and four certain members of the king's Musketeers, that he had managed to cling to his increasingly miserable existence for another year.

Yes. It was his birthday. And a more odious waste of his valuable time Richelieu could not imagine. Which was precisely why he ensured that everyone in Paris conveniently forgot the exact date. It wasn't as if anyone cared to celebrate his continued existence - curse that it was to the decency of France. He could think of nothing more torturous than being forced to spend the evening attending one of the King's well-meaning celebrations - filled with a parade of courtiers who wanted nothing more than for him to drop dead at his earliest convenience. Not that he minded, it was his dearest ambition for most of them as well.

🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂

After a refreshingly relaxed meeting with the King, Louis kindly gave him the gift of refusing the party which they both knew he didn't want. The king's magnanimity allowing him to cite an early meeting with the Spanish ambassador Perales (suspiciously odious as he was) with nothing more than a heartfelt "Happy birthday, Armand" in reply. With his evening now pleasantly free, Richelieu stepped out to enjoy a peaceful walk through the Louvre gardens. It was often the only exercise and time for himself that he could squeeze into his schedule. Fortunately, he did not have to remain alone with his thoughts for too long.

The familiar crisp crunch of footsteps behind him made Richelieu look up with a tiny smile. Treville looked a little harassed, with the colour up in his cheeks suggesting that he'd just finished a therapeutic shout, but he mimicked Richelieu's smile as he gave a tiny bow in acknowledgement. Richelieu could lie (which he did as easily as breathing - a regrettable habit for one in his position within the Catholic Church) and say he wasn't relieved, but he was. The only good part of this hateful day was upon him - his birthday truce with Captain Treville. The one brief window of time per year when their vast differences were mutually set aside - all so he didn't have to spend his birthday alone.

"Busy day?" Richelieu asked, unable to hide his smirk. Wandering through the gardens on his circuitous route back to the Palais-Cardinal was infinitely better with company he actually enjoyed.

"No more so than usual" Treville shrugged, beckoning Richelieu ahead of him with a wave of his hat. "I have Porthos teaching the new recruits basic hand to hand. I had to forbid d'Artagnan and Aramis from selling tickets." Treville shook his head fondly. "Athos was just drinking wine and enjoying the show."

"And are you regretting your decision to leave the Garrison while this is happening?" Richelieu wondered, unable to resist the urge to needle the Captain.

"No" Treville shot back with an almost playful twinkle in his eyes. "Because unlike your Guards, my Musketeers have never yet set fire to any of our buildings."

"It was once, Jean" Richelieu protested, as Treville had undoubtedly known he would. "And I immediately shipped them off to Des Essarts."

Treville was immediately self-satisfied. The expression suited him well. "Once is still once more than the Musketeers, Armand."

"Shall we analyse the number of times your men have ended up in jail compared to my Guards, Captain?" Richelieu challenged, keeping his amusement off his face with extreme force of will. His expression however fell a little as they arrived at his carriage.

Treville, for reasons Richelieu couldn't fathom, laughed - a warm chuckle that Richelieu was so rarely privileged enough to hear. Treville just shook his head and handed him safely into his carriage. Another chuckle was the reward for Richelieu's astonishment at Treville's joining him in the interior of the carriage.

"We're finishing this conversation over dinner" Treville announced, closing the carriage door firmly.

Richelieu raised a challenging brow. "Oh, we are, are we?" He didn't mind in the least, but Treville would start getting ideas if he let it slide.

The Captain just settled back in his seat and nodded. "Yes, we are." His twinkling eyes met Richelieu's in the gathering twilight. "Problem?"

"Not at all. My chef always prepares enough to feed a Garrison. Perhaps not yours..."

Treville nodded again, smile flashing briefly in the shadows. For a while, the only sounds were of the carriage wheels over the roads, but that was perfect as it was. Then, Treville caught his eyes again, and it could have been any of the twenty such days they had shared over the years.

"Happy birthday, Armand."

Richelieu allowed the smile to form on his face. Perhaps today had never been as hateful as he had thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
